


An Us Party

by hostagesfic



Category: McFly
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Hand Jobs, Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 07:50:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4011715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/pseuds/hostagesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom comes back from the cinema to find Danny half asleep on the sofa, match highlights still playing on the telly. The minute Danny spots him in the entryway to his living room, he makes a series of ridiculous sleepy groaning sounds and reaches for him; grabby hands and something that could pass for a “C’mere.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Us Party

**Author's Note:**

> Bank holiday weekends when the wives are away are writing weekends, aka time for Tom and Danny to be extra married. Kinda sorta part of a bigger ‘verse we’ve been discussing where Tom and Danny are poly and in a relationship together as well as with their respective ladies, all with consent. Inspired by [Tom's](https://instagram.com/p/3G6werzQax/) [Instagrams.](https://instagram.com/p/3HnJR9zQfd/)

Tom comes back from the cinema to find Danny half asleep on the sofa, match highlights still playing on the telly. The minute Danny spots him in the entryway to his living room, he makes a series of ridiculous sleepy groaning sounds and reaches for him; grabby hands and something that could pass for a “C’mere.”

Tom slides into the narrow strip of couch Danny's left for him and pulls Danny's heavy arm over his middle. It still feels familiar, homey, Danny's breathing at the nape of his neck, the steady rise and fall of his broad chest at Tom's back. It still makes him go soft inside, warm with comfort; still makes his cock fatten up in his skinnies.

"Movie good?" Danny wonders, a little later. His voice is hoarse, which means he did actually sleep through at least part of the game.

Tom nods, careful not to knock Danny's nose or chin. "Really good," he says. "Should've gone with me."

Danny scoffs. "And have you eat all my popcorn too."

"Not my fault you don't keep a close enough eye on it," Tom shrugs, smiles at Danny over his shoulder. Truth is, Danny always ends up handing his popcorn to Tom halfway and then pretending to be outraged when Tom finishes it. It's their thing. (They have a lot of things.)

Danny kisses him almost without thinking: Tom's lips are close enough and that's all the thought it takes. Tom hums happily against Danny's mouth the way he has a thousand times before, tips his shoulder against Danny's chest to try and make the angle better, lest he end up with a crick in his neck.

Danny curls his hand around the sharp jut of Tom's hip where his jeans are riding down. Tom’s skin is soft and warm against the calluses on his fingers, soothing against the ache in his knuckles from playing the same chords all day trying to iron out the newest song.

The telly's still humming in the background, the far away sounds of the crowds cheering oddly familiar as Tom bites at Danny's lower lip, brings a hand up to the side of his face just for the additional point of contact. He won't try to roll over, because he's fallen off this sofa attempting the exact same move more than once, but judging by the way Danny's tucking his fingertips underneath his waistband he might not have to move at all.

Danny loves the way Tom's fingers catch on the stubble across his jaw, amp up the sensation as he licks into Tom's mouth. The angle is awkward for kissing, but not for what he wants to do most in this moment. His hand slides into Tom's flies easily, snug between the denim and Tom's stiffy.

Tom breaks the kiss with a gasp, as if he hadn't predicted Danny's move. He can't help it; it always feels so good when everything else fades away and it's just the two of them again. He rocks his hips into Danny's touch, curls his fingers in a loose fist against the crook of Danny's jaw.

"Naughty boy, going to the cinema with no pants on," Danny laughs, warm against the side of Tom's face. He curls his hand loosely around Tom's cock, fingertips nudging at his balls.

"Too lazy to do laundry," Tom sighs. He reaches down to actually undo his flies, because while they might not be the tightest pair he owns, these jeans are rather restricting, especially in the grand scheme of getting a nice evening wank whilst still in them. "Very naughty, me."

"Nearly Dougie levels," Danny says, nosing at Tom's jaw and kissing beneath his ear. He eases Tom's cock free of the denim carefully, pressing it up against Tom's tummy, smearing precome on his tee.

"You know me," Tom says distractedly, rolling his hips again, this time moving back just enough to inconspicuously press his arse against Danny's crotch.

Danny moans softly, sucks the skin beneath Tom's ear between his teeth. Leaving a mark for later, to dig his thumb into while they fuck, makes him groan louder, hitch his hips up against Tom's arse.

"Come on, Danny," Tom mutters, fucking up into Danny's fist, a sharp little thrust. "You can fuck me later," he offers, as if he read Danny's mind.

"Yeah?" Danny tucks his chin over Tom's shoulder and looks down to where Tom is shoving his cock up through Danny's loose fist. "You gonna come again if I do?"

"If you can make me," Tom challenges. They both know it's gonna happen; still, that doesn't take away from the fact that Danny's competitive streak runs deep.

"Can do that," Danny says, pressing his thumb hard against the vein just under the head of Tom's cock and feeling it throb. "Christ, look at you, Tom."

Tom's cock is flushed dark pink, the head reddening every time he fucks it through the circle of Danny's fingers. Danny reaches up and spits into his palm, spreads it down Tom's cock and palms over the head messily, making the movement slick and easy.

"Fuck, that—” Tom breaks off into a whine, brings a hand down to wrap around Danny's wrist. "Try doing this on the upstroke," he gives Danny's wrist a little tug down when his hand's near Tom's cockhead, moans when Danny gives it a go on his own on the next stroke. "Good, fuck, keep doing that."

Danny slows it down, but copies the move well enough, spending an extra moment rubbing his fingertips around the head before he slides his hand back down. It’s just nice to look at, how Tom’s cock peeks out of his fist, the bead of precome sticking to the slit.

Tom leans his head back against the crook of Danny’s neck, bites his lip as he braces himself to thrust a little better and faster into Danny’s hand. Leave it to Danny to make him do all the work during a _handjob_. “Danny,” he sighs, mindless, “c’mon, I’m. Please.”

“Didn’t used to be this impatient,” Danny mumbles, noses at Tom’s jaw. “Got all night, haven’t we?”

“Not for a _wank_ , we haven’t,” Tom protests. He has plans for tonight. He’d like food, for one, because he’s past the point in his life where he can get away with having popcorn for his tea, and he wouldn’t be opposed to actually getting properly fucked later. “Getting closer, come on.”

Danny rolls his eyes, hoping Tom can see the motion, but speeds up his hand, finds a staccato rhythm that has Tom’s hips jumping to meet it every time he reaches the base of his cock. “Better, y’highness?”

All Tom gives for an answer is a series of little moans, too focused on the building warmth in his belly.

“That’s it, princess.” Danny tips his head to kiss Tom’s throat, presses his lips to where he can feel Tom’s pulse pounding.

Tom half-giggles and half-groans, kicking Danny in the shin mostly because he’s that close. “Shut— _up_!” he says through gritted teeth, comes spurting on the edge of his t-shirt and spilling over Danny’s fist. At the very least he has half a mind to aim away from the sofa cushions, as much as he’d love to watch Danny panic trying to figure out a way to clean it without Georgia ever finding out.

Danny laughs, chest shaking hard enough that he grabs Tom’s hip to keep him from rolling off the couch with the movement. Also because Tom gets floppy after he comes. “Nice one, Fletcher,” he grins.

“The _worst_ ,” Tom can’t help giggling again, breathless and boneless against Danny’s chest. “God. Yeah, okay, that was good.”

Danny taps his hip with wet fingertips, splays his hand across Tom’s stomach and spreads the mess up his abs just because Tom’s too boneless to do a thing about it. “Should trust me by now. I still know how to get you off, you tit.”

“I’d be worried if you didn’t,” Tom grimaces, raises a hand to pet clumsily at the side of Danny’s head. “Gonna need to borrow a shirt,” he says, as if he didn’t live just down the road, and as if he weren’t already going to borrow one even without the mess.

“Might be able to find ya one,” Danny murmurs. “Christ, you’re a mess. You gonna shower now?” He prods at Tom’s hip. “I’ve got a couple chicken breasts if you’re hungry.”

“You’re a chicken breast,” Tom retorts, scrunches his nose. He’s kind of looking forward to using Danny’s body wash already. “And I’m a dirty, dirty boy. Chicken sounds good.”

“Right then.” Danny stretches, wiping the remainder of Tom’s spunk off on his own shirt, and sits up as Tom stands on shaky legs. “Hey.”

“Wozzat?” Tom asks with a yawn, turning to face Danny.

Danny grabs his hand, sticky fingers tangling and catching, and pulls him down just close enough to kiss. “Just that.”

“Alright, then,” Tom suppresses a smile, readjusting his glasses.

  



End file.
